


Taking Strength

by prototyping



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, character profile, justifying Umbrella Chronicles, or at least why she cried all the time, reflection fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trekking through the last of the Arklay Mansion, Rebecca reflects on what and who helped her get this far. (a.k.a. my reasoning for why Umbrella Chronicles made her so emotional in the RE1 segment, because that bothered me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Strength

Rebecca stifled a choked sob, the low squeak that resulted echoing down the barren hallway. She stopped and listened, praying nothing had heard her, but none of the usual moans or scuffling noises answered. Relieved, she let out a shaky breath and wiped at her tender eyes before continuing on.  
  
How long had she been here? Surely it was almost dawn – that would mean she’d spent nearly an entire day in this mansion. An entire day of hiding out, occasionally lending help where it was needed – but it hadn’t done a thing for Richard, or Kenneth. Forest. Edward. Even Enrico. And now, after the two longest nights of her life, everything was beginning to take its toll. After Richard, it was as if whatever had been holding Rebecca together for so long had finally cracked: she was suddenly emotional, exhausted, and constantly near tears. It bothered her that she would break after coming this far, but a bitter part of her figured what the hell, no one was around to see her cry and she was probably going to die, anyway. Just like everyone else the team had lost – and if Rebecca did survive, there were still too many good people who would never return home.  
  
The thought turned her stomach and caused her throat to tighten again.  
  
Exhaling sharply, she straightened her posture, and in doing so she felt the dog tags around her neck bounce gently against her chest with a soft rattle. Another glance up and down the corridor and then she stopped, lifting the tags and tilting them toward the light.  _Name, rank, serial number_ ; it was the first time she’d actually looked at the things, and the sight of Billy’s name brought about a mixture of emotions. She’d have given just about anything to have his reassuring presence beside her – an ironic wish when she thought about it, but after a certain point in the Training Facility, knowing he had her back had made her feel safe, if nothing else. At the same time, though, Rebecca was glad he wasn’t here, because that meant that  _his_  nightmare, at least, was over. Assuming he’d gotten away safely…  
  
_No._  She shook her head as if to clear it. Mourning her dead teammates was one thing, but she  _would_  have hope for him, even if she had none left for herself. Billy was fine. He was capable, he was tough, he was a  _real_  soldier, unlike her. He would make it.  
  
She caught a glimpse of her blurry reflection in one of the tags and frowned. Her eyes were noticeably red. With Billy Coen’s name staring back at her, she couldn’t help feeling ashamed of herself. She’d made an effort not to let him see her become flustered or lose her cool; she hadn’t let him see the emotional side of her, either – except once – and if he  _were_  here, Rebecca would doubtlessly still be struggling to maintain her composure around him.  
  
She didn’t feel that way around Chris – no, he was different. She hadn’t been ashamed to break down and cry in front of him, assuming she’d had to break down and cry in front of anyone on the team, although it certainly helped that he hadn’t been weirded out by it. Then again, that was Chris from what she’d gathered in her time around him: calm, collected, compassionate, and always there for anyone who needed him. Hadn’t he mentioned having a younger sister before? Now that Rebecca thought about it, his behavior towards her tonight had been that of a senior officer first, but something definitely passing for a concerned older sibling had followed in close second.  
  
In contrast, maybe it was the way Billy had behaved so condescendingly at first – and on occasion throughout the whole venture – or how Rebecca had felt like she needed to prove herself to him, somehow, but the thought of breaking down in front of him at all was… embarrassing. Irritating. As if she were undoing the image of an independent, levelheaded, proud member of Raccoon City’s finest that she liked to think she’d made herself out to be in his eyes. She didn’t  _always_  need saving, she didn’t leave the dirty work to the men – and screw the knight-in-shining-armor cliché. So had been her attitude in the Training Facility.  
  
And yet… here she was. Crying. Emotional. Falling apart. Making it look like she  _needed_  him beside her to put on a brave face.  
  
Rebecca inwardly scoffed despite herself.  _That_  would certainly be an ego boost for the ex-marine. The thought of what he would say to that brought a slight, inevitable smile to her face, if only because his macho attitude really was what she could use right now, as much as she hated to admit it.  
  
“…Ugh,” she muttered to herself. “You’re getting all kinds of flattery from me tonight. It’s a good thing you’re not here.” No, Billy was free – past his trial while she had to survive another. For now, that was all she could do: survive. Long enough to get out of this hell house, get the word out about this place – go home, call her parents, catch up on all the sleep she’d missed the last two nights – after she submitted the report she wasn’t looking forward to, in which, she’d decided, she would include a note about Billy’s death. Amid this mess, it wasn’t like her superiors would have the mind or time to question one man’s significance, a felon’s especially.  
  
_…Okay._  Rebecca flexed her sweaty fingers, stiff from their tight grip on her gun.  _You’re not the only one who needs you to get out of here alive._  Pausing before the door in front of her, she tucked the dog tags into her shirt and gripped the cool knob in one hand. Breathed once. Listened.  
  
With the cold metal against the hot skin of her chest, she took strength, pushed the door open, and went through.


End file.
